3. [xestsemon au]

[birdhousesoul]

Anders has some idea Hawke and Malcolm will be in the village today, only he's not sure when. This place doesn't run on clocks. Things happen when they happen. In the meantime, he goes about his business. Unless anyone has a surprise woodchopping accident, he ought to have today to himself for a change, with no one in the village environs known to be sick or at the point of giving birth. It's a day for doing chores that take more time.

The planks of the clinic floor are in need of scrubbing, the hearth needs a good sweeping out, and after accomplishing both these tasks, Anders feels he himself is in need of scrubbing. This is ordinarily accomplished with a bucket of water and a rough cloth. He's had a square wooden tub made for soaking in, one he keeps in the clinic with a privacy screen shielding it from the main room, but he seldom gets to use it himself; it's more for allowing people to soak things that need soaking, swellings or cysts or pulled muscles. Today he has time to fill it.

He doesn't get into the bath until after he's already scrubbed clean, though, with said bucket-and-cloth method. In a place where it takes considerable effort to collect and heat the water for a bath, you make good use of that bath once you've got it. You don't pollute the water unnecessarily. It can be used by more than one person, and after that, the water can be used for laundry. He misses the station showers, sometimes. He misses the hippie laundry. Anders takes his time sitting in the water and absorbing its heat, every once in a while idly using a little fire magic to re-warm it, secure in the knowledge that he's not going to be needing an untouched mana pool for anything soon.

By the time he hears the door creaking to signal Hawke's arrival (and Malcolm making a curious noise in answer to that creak), Anders has only just hauled himself out of the tub and into a fresh pair of pants. He's drying his hair with a somewhat ragged linen towel as he steps out from behind the screen. "All right," he says, "your turn." And smiles, as it ought to be a pleasant surprise. They didn't plan any bath day. "Give him here." Malcolm's small enough yet that a basin suffices to wash him, and he's far too small to put in a bathtub.

Comments

[questionablewit]

Malcolm, of course, grabs at the spell wisp and thus Hawke's nose, though his grip slips off almost at once. She makes a face, which only makes the baby laugh and try again. "Except that Varric's better at cards than I am. Are we sure he's not really the mother?"

Hawke turns mock-serious as she examines Malcolm's face. Malcolm giggles and swipes for her nose again. "Your eyes look like they're going to stay brownish, squirt. Could be another sign of Varric being involved somewhere..." She pretends to consider. "But that black hair is definitely mine, so presumably so are you. And I'm sure you have me to blame for the way you always want to run off and find some trouble to get into, Maker help us all." Her hands are still resting on Anders', holding Malcolm's sides, and one thumb unconciously strokes his hand. "You really should consider taking Teo as a role model. He's got more sense than the rest of us." Teo, as though to argue this point, snorts.

[birdhousesoul]

"He did just steal your nose. A born rogue, that one. Definitely yours; you've always been much more hands-on than Varric."

At the very outset, Anders was concerned to assert his paternity, for Malcolm's sake; old Anderfels prejudices coming to the fore. He needn't have bothered: the locals could put two and two together, and they'd have worked their way to the correct conclusion all on their own through indiscriminate application of gossip. It's known he's associated with the resistance movement, and Xestsemon is pro-rebellion, so it's generally not held against him that he wasn't around at first; rumors as to what he was really doing the whole time have varied. What remains to be determined by the villagers is why the family's split between two residences. The clinic partly explains that, but there's obviously still going to be some speculation. To Anders' chagrin, a minority opinion holds that Malcolm isn't Anders' son but the son of an unknown brother of his, and he's doing his fraternal duty taking the child as his own. Shades of Sebastian and SMIAV!

The important thing is that no one could ever mistake Malcolm for a cast-off. He's a loved child, very much wanted, and if it sometimes gets Anders called the local equivalent of Mister Hawke, well, that's not overly objectionable. And with that understood, Anders is more than comfortable joking about Malcolm's genetic makeup, his putative heritage ranging back hundreds of generations, and the possibility that Malcolm may actually be an unholy changeling rather than a real live human boy. (The unholy changeling business generally comes up only in the event of a Diaper Explosion.)

When Malcolm gets older and starts running around tearing his clothes off, Isabela may well be implicated. It's a way, too, of keeping their distant friends alive.

"I'll tell you what," says Anders to Malcolm, or rather to the top of Malcolm's head. "You take Teo as a role model as seriously and as faithfully as you like. I'm willing to suffer the drool and the wanton destruction of textiles. What I fear is the day you come asking for a wallop mallet."

Oh, Gamlen, you too will never be forgotten.

[questionablewit]

"Oh, the nose-stealing comes from you, definitely." Hawke turns a look of fond affection on Anders. She's never denied Malcolm's parentage. When asked, before Anders arrived, she would say only that his father was fighting in the war and couldn't be there; truth, as she saw it at the time. Since Anders arrived she's been asked if he's the father in question, and has always been firm in her answer. No one's quite had the audacity to ask why they don't share a house, and the rumors of Malcolm actually having a different father haven't directly reached her ears, or she'd squash them. Hawke doesn't much care what people think of her, but she won't have them thinking ill of Malcolm or Anders if she can help it.

For now, she removes Malcolm from Anders' hands, then turns so she's sitting in front of him and he can hold both of them at once, if he wishes. Malcolm gets deposited in her lap, pouting at now being so far away from the nose-spell-wisp. "We already get drool and the wanton destruction of textiles." Inevitable with all babies, no doubt, though to Hawke's biased eyes Malcolm seems a master of both. "But if he takes after Gamlen, I honestly think I'll cry."

[birdhousesoul]

"Don't say that where he can hear you," cautions Anders. "You'll give him ideas." He wraps long limbs around Hawke, a leg to either side of hers, arms circling to reach about her and tickle Malcolm, who squeals. "No, I've a better idea," and he speaks with exaggerated clearness: "It would be horrible if our son ever emulated Gamlen Amell, who was the most stable and fiscally prudent man of his generation. He never drooled on anything, nor did he destroy clothing, and he was toilet-trained at a miraculously early age. No, we would cry lots if our son behaved in such a way as Gamlen, and it would send us into ridiculous fits most amusing to watch."

[questionablewit]

Hawke laughs long and delightedly at that. Malcolm echoes it, either from imitation or more likely because Anders is still tickling him. "He's our son. I'm pretty sure he's too smart for such blatant reverse psychology." She leans back and turns her head to kiss Anders' cheek. "You'll have to try something else, I'm afraid."

[birdhousesoul]

"He's our son, therefore he's too stubborn to do as he thinks he's being told," Anders argues. "He gets that from his mother."

[questionablewit]

"I do as I'm told sometimes," Hawke protests. "I eat all my vegetables, even. May Malcolm be so obedient once we start him on solids. And you're at least as stubborn as I am, and you know it, so no complaining."

He does complain, of course, and the evening passes. Bickering and playing turn into storytime, increasingly silly stories designed to convince Malcolm to go to sleep. It takes another round with the cold knotted cloth before he starts drifting off, and Hawke holds him close as he gums at it, humming and rocking him. Her expression is one of quiet contentment and focus, overwritten by deep, open affection.

[birdhousesoul]

Anders, who's just finished improvising a dog bed for Teo, trails off in the midst of admonishing the mabari (dog bed only, no human bed for you). He simply watches mother and child, his heart swelling with happiness.

[questionablewit]

It takes a moment for Hawke to realize she's an object of scrutiny. Once she has, she looks up and meets Anders' gaze. Her smile is serene and joyous, and it's entirely possible that he's never seen her look as happy as she does at this moment.

The moment holds for a long time, ending when Malcolm drops the knot-cloth, which he does because he's finally fallen asleep. Hawke lets out a breath of a laugh and brushes her lips on his forehead, turning to get him settled in the basket of cloths that serves him as a cradle here.

[birdhousesoul]

Anders comes to wrap his arms about Hawke from behind and look over her shoulder at Malcolm. "Thought he'd never nod off," he murmurs.

[questionablewit]

Hawke chuckles, resting her hands on his arms where they cross her chest. "We got off lightly. Sometimes it takes half the night for him to fall asleep. Invite me to stay over more often and you'll see."

[birdhousesoul]

He inclines his head to kiss the side of her head above the ear. "Is that something you'd like?"

[questionablewit]

"Yes." Simple answer, given without ornamentation or pause. She tilts her head towards his mouth, eyes closing. "Is it something you'd like?"

[birdhousesoul]

He could hedge. He won't. "I think yes. Only I haven't got a basket big enough for you." A hand slides slightly northward.

[questionablewit]

Hawke smiles. "Pity. You'll have to find somewhere else for me to sleep, in that case." Her arms are pinned; she can't reciprocate much. But she can lean back into the embrace, and does. "Think you can come up with something?"

[birdhousesoul]

Come up with something, honestly. He chuckles. "If moved by inspiration, most certainly."

[questionablewit]

"I'd best think of a way to inspire you, then." She can reach behind herself to grasp his hips, pulling them against hers. "Otherwise you might suggest I sleep in the bathtub."

[birdhousesoul]

"It'd be more than my life's worth to make you sleep in the bathtub." He gives an appreciative hum, and rubs against her. "Ordinarily I bar the door, but won't that be a problem for Teo ...?"

[questionablewit]

"It might be, yes," Hawke murmurs. Teo can usually get through the night, and is in fact intelligent enough to use a chamber pot in an emergency, but she'd rather he had the option of outside if needed. "So if you leave the door unbarred for him, I promise that if anyone breaks in I'll make them very, very sorry." Not that it's likely anyone would. No one wants to offend the village healer.

[birdhousesoul]

"It's not for my protection, it's for theirs." He doesn't want to find out what might happen if strangers wake him, in his home. Banging on the door or the shutters might alarm him, yes, but he'll have time to awaken fully and remember where he is before addressing whatever visitors he might have, likely innocent people in a panic wanting a healer.

Roasting villagers alive would not help him sustain a quiet life in the mountains. Nor would it reflect well on the resistance.

But he trusts Hawke to keep him from committing any accidental atrocities. There are things he trusts her with, and things he doesn't, and this is a thing he can trust her with. Besides, Teo would set up a hue and cry before anyone could actually come in.

"Then let him and the door take care of themselves," he murmurs. "Lights out."

[questionablewit]

"I know." And she does, better than most. But Teo would warn them well in advance of anyone actually coming in, however frantic.

Preparing for bed takes little time, blowing out candles and banking the fire and the other miscellaneous tasks one does. All those things accomplished, however, Hawke finds herself hesitant to just strip and climb into Anders' bed, even if she has been all but invited. He wouldn't have offered for them--her--to stay the night if it hadn't been for the afternoon's events, she's fairly sure. Even so, they're on uncertain ground, have been ever since he found her in the mountains. She doesn't want to push, for fear she might push too far.

Instead she stands by the bed, in the shadows, one hand holding the drawn-back curtain, and waits as Anders finishes his own tasks.

[birdhousesoul]

Anders understands that reluctance. While he expected to join her in bed, he's not surprised to find her standing beside it. And while it's easiest to let things go unsaid, it's perhaps not the healthiest habit in the world for either of them. They've found their own admixture of bumbling and banter to work passably well thus far in life, but now they've got a third party to consider, and Malcolm won't be ignorant of human language forever. Already he picks up on the emotional currents surrounding him, Anders believes — when teething or other concerns aren't paramount on the infant agenda. (Bright colors. Shiny objects. Hair. Animals.)

Anders wraps his arms about Hawke just as she is, with her still holding the curtain, and kisses the top of her head. "I could sleep in the bathtub," he offers.

[questionablewit]

Hawke chuckles. "No, you couldn't. You'd wrench your back out trying." She releases the curtain to wrap her arms around him, and kisses his jaw, since it's nearest. "I'm just waiting for permission. Or invitation, one of those. After all, Malcolm's going to have to learn about courtesy from somewhere, so I'd better brush up on my manners." This time the kiss lands on his cheek, more or less.

[birdhousesoul]

"He'll learn courtesy from me right after I give him lute lessons." Rueful, not bitter, and obviously a joke. "Love, you tried talking to me earlier, and I didn't listen. I'm sorry. Sometimes things rub me the wrong way, I don't have a good reason for it, and I need to do better if I'm going to be any kind of example for our boy." He strokes her hair. "We're both a little rough around the edges, aren't we? And we're never going to be perfect, that's a simple fact. But it's no reason I shouldn't try to be better."

Anders steps back to hold Hawke at arm's length, to look her up and down, not a prurient appraisal, though there's obvious appreciation in his eyes. "I'm blighted lucky to have you, in whatever way I have you. I can't hold a grudge against you, I've tried and I can't; it's been sheer habit keeping me from you, and I didn't think you'd want me anyhow. We've done a lot for one another, and some things against one another as well, but ..." Anders sighs quietly. "Hawke, I still can't understand why you left the station as you did, any more than you can understand why I destroyed the Chantry. We can give one another reasons, call one another to account, but none of it can really explain what we've chosen. And none of it ultimately makes a difference to what we have now. We've done what we've done; fine; I don't care. I love you and I love our son. I even love your mabari."

[questionablewit]

Hawke's smile is like a sunrise; slow to appear, but suffusive as it does. "No one's ever perfect, no. But one thing I've learned is that it's not as important as whether or not we keep trying to improve things. We haven't always done very well by each other, but I'd like to think we can do better. With everything."

She raises a hand to his face, brushing a thumb over the ever-present stubble on his chin; an old gesture. "Any second chances you can offer me, I'll take, gladly. I still want you, however I can have you, whatever you'll allow me. I love you. Malcolm loves you." She chuckles. "Even Teo loves you, in a make fun of me and I'll chew on your cat slippers sort of way."